


Chantelle's First Term

by ewremrednaveldnawl



Category: Bad Education (UK TV)
Genre: Gen, Platonic Relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-28
Updated: 2016-08-18
Packaged: 2018-02-19 03:40:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 4,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2373176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ewremrednaveldnawl/pseuds/ewremrednaveldnawl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How Chantelle became what she is, i.e. a slut. Shy and bookish Chantelle arrives at her new school and immediately fears unpopularity, which causes her to change. A little darker than the usual Bad Education story. It also probably goes against the continuity a bit, but it is what it is. Rated M for strong language and frequent references to sex and drugs, although there are no actual explicit scenes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

Chantelle Parsons walked up to the nearest teacher she could find.

“Excuse me, Miss, my name is Chantelle. I’m new here next term.”

The woman turned to face her and Chantelle saw, to her relief, what appeared to be a kind, benevolent face smiling down at her. A little like Professor McGonogal, she thought.

“Chantelle who, dear?”

“Parsons. Chantelle Parsons.”

“I must just check with the headmaster. Please come with me.”

Chantelle followed the teacher into the main building and down a long, dark passage. She was fourteen years old and scared. At her old school she had been quite unpopular, what with the braces and the glasses and general social awkwardness. She was hoping, praying that this school would be different, that she would make friends. That her drunk, crazy mother wouldn’t show up at parent’s evenings and concerts and embarrass her. The teacher led her into the strangest office she had ever seen, the whole thing decorated in bright colors and movie posters. The headmaster, who looked only a little older than Chantelle herself, smiled up at her from his laptop.

“Morning, Miss Pickwell. Who’s this?”

“Chantelle Parsons. She’s the new girl next term.”

“Well take her to Alfie. I’m engaged in some witty banter with an old mate online.”

Miss Pickwell made a noise somewhere between a groan and a snarl. “Sorry, Chantelle,” she said kindly, “please follow me.”

With another glare at the headmaster, Miss Pickwell led Chantelle out into the corridor again. As they walked, Chantelle thought about how much more laid-back this place seemed than her last school. And now that she had the braces off and didn’t need the glasses anymore, maybe someone would think she was pretty?

As they rounded a corner she saw a fat boy with red hair hanging upside down. His shoes were missing and one of his bare feet was clasped in the hand of a big blonde boy.

“Brandon!” shouted Miss Pickwell, “what have we said about bullying?”

The ginger boy, who looked terrified, was being dangled above a dirtbin. The blonde boy laughed. “You said only the gingers. And Joe here is one.”

“Only because Alfie died my hair at the Valentine’s dance!” squeeled Joe miserably.

Then, to Chantelle’s surprise, Miss Pickwell laughed as well.

“Actually,” said the teacher, sounding a lot less kind, “we said only in the toilets or places where you can’t be found out.”

“Understood, Miss.”

The boy called Brandon dragged the ginger boy off by his foot in the direction of the toilets. Chantelle was horrified.

“It boosts morale to encourage bullying,” explained Miss Pickwell. “Now come and meet Mr. Wickers.”


	2. Chapter Two

Miss Pickwell led Chantelle into a classroom where the most gorgeous boy Chantelle had ever seen was looking over some notes. After a moment, she realized to her amazement that he was a teacher.  
“Mr. Wickers,” said Miss Pickwell, with the same contempt she used when speaking to the headmaster, “this is Chantelle Parsons.”  
“Hi, Chantelle, welcome to our school,” said Mr. Wickers with a smile that seemed a thousand times more genuine than Miss Pickwell’s had initially seemed. As he shook her hand, Chantelle felt a familiar sensation of wanting to be alone with this man in a dark room.  
“If there’s anything you need,” said Mr. Wickers, “just let me know.”  
“Thank you, sir.”  
“Alright,” said Miss Pickwell, “come and meet your class.”  
A half hour later, Chantelle was being introduced to her new classmates, although she was far too shy to look any of them in the eye. There was a girl called Jing who reminded her a little of herself- bookish, glasses- and then there was a guy called Mitchell who was good-looking in a cocky sort of way. Still not her type, though, she thought- in fact none of the guys in the class were. Chantelle wanted a man to be equal parts attractive and intelligent, respectful but exciting, mature but at the same time juvenile. She had had the image of such a boy in her head since the age of eight years old. A boy who liked all the same things as her, one who could make her laugh and entertain her and watch Rocky Horror with her again and again and know all the lyrics. Sadly, she had never met anyone who lived up to this image of utter perfection – until she saw Mr. Alfie Wickers. Bullies or no bullies, she was resolved on joining this school. And even though in her first ten minutes here she had seen someone being shoved into a bin and encountered what might have been the most unpleasant old bitch alive, she couldn’t wait for next term to begin.


	3. Chapter 3

It was a week before the start of term. Chantelle had been invited by Jing on Facebook to a school event- a back-to-school party where new students could bond with and get to know their future classmates. She was so excited that she almost forgot it was her mother’s birthday that night, but considering the fact that Mrs. Parsons would be out with some random guy for the entire evening, it would probably be alright. Chantelle dressed up in one of her mother’s dresses, a black velvet dress with a little bit of cleavage but not nearly as much as the others. She put on a little bit of makeup, not wanting to overdo it, and then, thinking that Mr. Wickers might be there, she put on a little more.

Jing gave her a lift. Jing’s father eyed her dissaprovingly all the way, which was awkward, but Chantelle did her best to ignore it. All her life she had allowed herself to be put down by strange glances from people, and tonight she was determined not to let anyone ruin her evening.

The party was taking place in the school hall, and it wasn’t the best turn-out she had seen. There was plenty of booze and some students were already passing out or throwing up under the influence. She recognized the headmaster who appeared to be DJ-ing, and not very well. She was informed by Jing that Miss Pickwell was, thankfully, not invited. Mr. Wickers, however, was very much there, looking better than ever before. Chantelle rushed up to greet him.

“Hi, Mr. Wickers!”

“Hi… um…”

“Chantelle.”

“Hi, do I know you?”

“I’m starting next term. I came to see the school a few weeks ago.”

“Oh, right. Yeah, we get quite a few newbies every term. Hard to keep track, y’know? Will you excuse me a minute, they’re playing Bublé.” And he was gone. Chantelle felt a little disappointed, but she wasn’t going to be deterred. She knew she could never have a relationship with him but at least if she could get to know him better…

And then she saw something that made her want to vomit. Mr. Wickers had started dancing with a pretty female co-worker, and from the look on his face, Chantelle knew he was into her. Shit! Just when she thought it couldn’t get any worse, three of the popular girls from her old school, the girls who had always picked on her, were drifting through the crowd in their tiny skirts and heavy makeup, and heading straight for her small group of drunk classmates. Chantelle ran to the bathroom and shut the door.

She stood there for a few minutes and thought things over. Had they spotted her? Most likely. Anyway, there wasn’t any point in staying here. This was a new start for her. She didn’t need to be known as the shy, geeky girl in the corner anymore. She had found a new place, had already made one friend. She boldly walked out again, after checking herself in the mirror once more, and joined her classmates.

“Hey, Chantelle,” said Mitchell when she arrived.

“Oh my fuck, is that Chantelle Parsons?” asked Stacey, the trashiest, bitchiest of the girls from her old school.

“Yep, you know her?” said Mitchell.

The blonde boy called Brandon who liked to beat up gingers had walked up with a beer in his hand.

“Hey,” he said to Chantelle’s clevage. “Do I know you?”

“Her name’s Chantelle,” said Mitchell.

“Well hi, Chantelle,” said Brandon. “Fuck me, you’re fit. Oh, you’re the new girl in Mitch’s class. Well this is Stacey, she’s Mitchell’s girlfriend. And this is Meredith, my girlfriend. And this is Roxanne, Remdog’s girlfriend. According to Remdog.”

“I know them,” said Chantelle softly.

“She was in our class,” said Meredith.

“You never told me you had such fit girls in your class, babe,” said Brandon. “Apart from yourself.”

“Don’t be fooled by a thin layer of makeup,” said Roxanne. “She’s a total prude. Honestly, in fifth grade we were all smoking and she told a teacher and got us all in detention for a month. And when my brother tried to kiss her last year she wouldn’t even do it because she said she was waiting for someone special.”

“No offense, Chantelle,” added Stacey generously, “but she’s the biggest fucking bore in the world.”

“Well she can’t be worse than our Pickwell,” said Mitchell. “And she’s certainly fitter.”

Chantelle had already run off to the bathroom at this stage. She slammed the door behind her and punched the wall, silently sobbing. She was so fucking sick of this. Everywhere she went, all day, everyday. Just because she wasn’t as confident or as pretty or as outgoing as other girls. Just because she had standards and because she didn’t smoke and wasn’t a total slag.

She walked out into the hall again and headed straight for the drinks table. She grabbed a bottle of vodka and unscrewed the lid.

“Hey, are you okay?” asked Jing. Chantelle wasn’t listening. She downed as much as she could, before running off to the bathroom again to be sick.

It was twenty-five minutes past midnight when she came out of the bathroom, drunk and lonely, her makeup smudged and her hair in a mess. The first things she saw was Brandon emerging from the boy’s toilets and wiping his nose. He grinned when he saw her.

“Want to shoot some powders?”

“What?”

“Drugs,” he said dumbly. He reached his hand into his pocket and took out a small packet of white powder. “My gift to you.” He threw it to her and she caught it, unsure of what she really wanted to do with it.

“My girlfriend’s gone home,” said Brandon. “You and her don’t exactly get on, eh?”

“Not exactly.”

“It’s okay, she’s a whore,” he said with a laugh. “She cheats on me all the time.”

“Then why do you date her?”

“Because she’s good at shagging.”

Chantelle felt sick all over again.

“Wanna go back in and suck me off?” asked Brandon abruptly. Chantelle was horrified. “I don’t mean any disrespect. But I’m drunk, you’re drunk, we’re both horny as fuck.”

“No thanks, Brandon. I’m gonna head home now.”

“Oh. Well I’ll have to find someone else to cheat on Meredith with. Maybe you are a prude. Oh, well.”

And he started staggering drunkenly away.

“Wait,” said Chantelle, feeling her head spinning from the vodka. “Promise you won’t tell anyone?”

“Well I’ll tell Meredith.”

“Apart from her.”

“Not an issue, love. Your secrets are safe with me.”

Against her better judgment, Chantelle lunged at the blonde boy and pushed him back into the boy’s toilets, latching her mouth onto his.


	4. Chapter 4

One week into the new term. Chantelle had been there one week and already everyone called her a whore. Naked photographs of her had been distributed by Brandon to the entire school, graffiti had appeared in the school toilets saying “Chantelle is a slut” and even Mitchell and Remdog, who had mostly been friendly to her, joked about how much she got around. Jing was still polite, but she had that same look of disapproval that her father had had. The worst thing was that Chantelle was starting to believe that it was true. At a party last week she had met a guy from school whose name she didn’t even know, and ended up shagging him on the host’s parents’ bed. Was she turning into her mother?  
Mr. Wickers still barely seemed to notice her, no matter how hard she tried to get his attention. She wore a push-up bra, heavy eyeliner and wrote flirtatious things in the margins of her essays, but none of it was enough- he only had eyes for Miss Gulliver, the pretty teacher he had danced with at the back-to-school party.  
On Friday night Remdog was having a party and it was all anyone talked about. Chantelle had tried to persuade him to invite Mr. Wickers, but he had said there wasn’t a chance. She knew that the bitchy girls from her old school would be there as well, especially since Roxanne was apparently Remdog’s girlfriend. But this time she wasn’t afraid to face them. She was confident now, and aware of her own beauty. She was going to surprise them.  
Remdog’s party turned out to be worse than the back-to-school one. Held in a small, run-down kid’s park, it became too crowded too soon with people from the school that Chantelle knew Remdog had only invited to push the numbers up, and not because they were his friends. Jing hadn’t even pitched, which had probably been the wisest call. Chantelle sat by herself on the roundabout and smoked for a while. It wasn’t long before Stacey, Meredith and Roxanne came to join her.  
“Hey, Chantelle,” said Stacey, hugging her. Chantelle was surprised at how enthusiastic she was. Had she finally been accepted?  
“You look so pretty,” said Roxanne. “Did you have a makeover?”  
“I did, actually,” said Chantelle, trying to puff on the cigarette in am impressive and sexy way.  
“And is it true that you’re a slut now?” asked Meredith. “Because Brandon says everyone calls you a slut.”  
“Bruce says he shagged her last week,” added Roxanne. “You know Bruce, my actual boyfriend.”  
“We all make mistakes,” said Chantelle.  
“Sorry, love,” said Stacey, “but that’s what we’re defined by. Our mistakes.” She pulled out her phone and snapped a picture. “This is so going on Facebook – lonely hooker smoking in the park.”  
Chantelle gritted her teeth and ignored them. There was no point in responding. At that moment a strange boy approached and sat down next to her. He wasn’t bad looking.  
“Hey,” he said shyly, “you look lovely.”  
The three girls laughed at her.  
“Enjoy,” said Meredith as they started moving away. “He’s from our school, aren’t you, Simon? Fucking loser.” Chantelle realized she had to act fast if she was going to prove she wasn’t easy.  
“I’m not interested, freak, go wank in that bush with the other kiddy-fiddlers.”  
It wasn’t her best material, but it served its purpose- the freak ran away looking like he was going to cry and the three bitchy girls laughed as he ran and nodded their approval. She could be one of them if she wanted to.  
“Oh, and by the way,” said Meredith as they left, “Brandon dumped me because I got my haircut.” She indicated the blonde boy who was on the other side of the park giving a wedgie to his latest victim, a boy called Frank Grayson. “So if you need a quick screw…”  
Chantelle replied that she didn’t. But with the image of Mr. Wickers in his tracksuit pants in gym class the day before etched in her brain, and the familiar feeling of utter desperation taking over her, she knew where she was probably going to end up tonight.


	5. Chapter 5

“No-Uniform Day” proved to be the most anticipated day of the first term. Everyone went out of their way to dress up, and Chantelle saw it as the perfect opportunity to impress Mr. Wickers. She had, after much consideration, decided to wear the short black dress belonging to her mother that she had worn to the back-to-school party, as a symbol of how far she had come. This time she padded her bra more than ever and put on a thick layer of makeup. Today she was going to tell Mr. Wickers how she felt, for better or for worse, and something, something had to happen. She had discovered over the last two months that she could have any boy she wanted. Mr. Wickers was only twenty-one years old- that was pretty close to fourteen.  
She arrived half an hour early for school and found Mr. Wickers deep in conversation with Joe.  
“Which is why, Joe, I need you to do it,” he was saying.  
“But can’t Remdog do it? Or Jing, Jing will do it.”  
“I need you to do it. And Miss Mollinson needs you to do it. Thanks, Joe, knew we could count on you. Hi, Chantelle, how can I help you?”  
Joe left the classroom looking miserable. Chantelle walked in, trying to look as sexy as possible, pushing out her chest.  
“I was wondering, sir…” she said seductively, “how you felt about this dress.”  
Mr. Wickers eyed her suspiciously. “Yes, it’s alright.”  
“And how would you feel,” she said, leaning over his desk, “about removing it right now?”  
She felt his eyes fall onto her magnificent behind and waited in the idle hope that he would spank it.  
“I’m going to stop you right there, Chantelle. I might be a useless teacher but I’m not a pedophile. Please don’t imply for a second that I would be interested in that kind of thing. I once accidentally implied it as a joke and Miss Pickwell’s never let me forget it.”  
Chantelle was hurt and angry. “No one will know,” she said, realizing how desperate she sounded. Her voice had trailed off as the realization hit her that it was not going to happen. Despite how fucking stupid she must have looked, she allowed tears to well up in her eyes.  
“Sit down, Chantelle.” Mr. Wickers went over to the kettle and poured a cup full of hot water. “What’s your first class today?”  
“Maths. With Miss Mollinson.”  
“Right. Well I’m making you a quick cup of tea, you can explain to her why you’re late.”  
“Why are you making me tea?”  
“Because you seem upset.”  
She nodded without saying anything.  
“Just trying to be nice,” said Mr. Wickers.  
She nodded again.  
“I’m very happy to be your friend,” he said, “as well as your teacher. But don’t expect anything innapropriate to happen because it won’t.”  
She nodded again. She tried to convey everything that she was feeling in that one, broken nod, but she couldn't begin to get it across. Gratitude, adoration, emptiness.  
She had her tea and left.  
As she walked slowly down the corridor on her way to maths she heard a voice say, “Chantelle? Chantelle Parsons?”  
She turned around only to see the vicious eyes of Miss Pickwell boaring down into her.  
“H-Hi, Miss,” she stammered.  
Pickwell grinned. “My office. Now.” The smile dissappeared as quickly as it had appeared, and the lean old woman marched off in the direction of her office. Chantelle slowly followed her.  
Her hands were shaking now, her fingers burried into her palms hard enough to draw blood with her fingernails. Her whole body was in a cold sweat.  
This is it, she thought, it’s over. They’ve found out what I am. Useless, good for nothing – not even good enough for this school!  
Miss Pickwell ushered her into her office and sat down opposite her. The office was decorated like a facist’s office – grey walls, photographs of famous millitary commanders and an ugly stone bust which Chantelle was certain resembled Mussolini. Miss Pickwell had chosen to ignore “No Uniform-Day”, and wore her usual tight black dress that added to her air of menace.  
“You look lovely, my dear,” she said softly, her thin-lipped smile returning to her face.  
“Thank you, Miss.”  
“Cup of tea?”  
“I already had one with Mr. Wickers, thank you, Miss.”  
“I’m sure you did.”


	6. Chapter 6

Miss Pickwell steepled her hands and leaned on them, looming above Chantelle like a bat. “We need to have a little girl’s chat you and I, alright?”  
Chantelle felt tears well up in her eyes despite her best efforts to prevent them. “P-please Miss,” she said, “He was only comforting me… and I flirted with him, not the other way around.”  
Miss Pickwell looked confused. “Chantelle? What are you talking about? Mr. Wickers?”  
Chantelle nodded.   
Pickwell laughed. “My dear, I would raise no objection to you sleeping with Wickers. I wouldn’t mind crawling into his bed myself. Honestly, it would only serve to get him fired, so who am I to complain? You have your fun! I was just like you at your age!”  
Her smile widened and now, as terrifying a thought as it was, Chantelle began to feel that she could actually see a hint of kindness there. It reminded her of the fact that Pickwell had been the first teacher to usher her into this new school where for such a short amount of time she had felt accepted.  
“My problem with you,” said Pickwell, “centers around your dress code. Your lax attitude towards wearing your uniform. The way you are dressed today, so clearly asking for attention. One of our students has registered a complain that he finds it… distracting.”  
It was at that moment that Chantelle felt a rough hand slap her backside. Her immediate thoughts went to Mr. Wickers - had her fantasy come true after all?  
She turned around to see Brandon emerging from the shadows. How long had he been standing there?   
“Hey, babe… wow, just when I thought you couldn’t look any trashier.”  
She realized that he was wearing a uniform.  
“Mr. Small, welcome,” said Miss Pickwell, “do please sit down. I was just telling Miss Parsons here about your complaints.”  
Brandon grinned.   
“I thought we weren’t wearing uniforms today,” said Chantelle.  
“Nope, wrong day,” laughed Brandon. “No-Uniform Day is tomorrow. Anyway, no one will notice, everyone’s so used to seeing you dressed like a skank.”  
“Your point has been made, Mr. Small,” said Miss Pickwell with a smile. She leaned over to Chantelle and winked at her. “Go on,” she whispered, “be a skank all you like. Just not where it interferes with our teaching.” She swept out of the room, leaving them sitting in semi-darkness.  
“Shall we?” said Brandon, still grinning at the look of shame and sadness on Chantelle’s face. They stepped out into the corridor and Chantelle ran for the toilets as fast as she could.  
To her amazement, she collided with Miss Gulliver, who was just leaving the staff toilets across the passage.  
“Chantelle? Are you alright?” she asked.  
“I’m going to leave the school,” said Chantelle. She wasn’t crying anymore now. Her mind was made up on exactly what she needed to do.  
“You can’t leave the school? Where would Jing be without you? Your class loves you!”  
“They love my body,” said Chantelle.  
“Does Jing? Does Stephen?”  
“Who is Stephen?”  
“Stephen hasn’t joined yet… Look, Chantelle, if Miss Pickwell’s been putting ideas into your head-”  
“Only that I’m a slut,” she said.  
“There’s no such thing as a slut,” said Miss Gulliver. “Your body is yours to do with as you please. Now I must get back to class, as must you.” She walked off.  
It was at that moment that, to her amazement, the geeky boy she had rejected in the park whom her old enemies had known, appeared around the corner, deep in conversation with Joe. At the same time, Brandon appeared again and shouted, “Slag!”  
Simon, the park boy, somewhat nervously leaned over and whispered, “Ignore him, Chantelle, you’re fucking beautiful.”  
“Go fuck yourself, creep,” she said.  
“Yeah, you heard her,” jeered Brandon. “Go fuck yourself, or better still, fuck her, because I heard her pussy was a free for all!”  
Before Chantelle knew what had happened, Simon went flying down the corridor, his fist colliding with Brandon’s face. The blonde boy keeled over, his face set in an expression of pure horror, and smashed into the metal lockers with a resounding clank. The nerd kicked him hard in the crotch, and Brandon yelped, rubbing his eyes.  
He soon got his drive back and leapt to his feet, seizing the little geek by the scruff of his neck and lifting him off his feet.  
The boy was shouting, wriggling to get free, kicking at Brandon as best he could.  
“You’re sticking up for her?” said Brandon. “She fucking hates you! She’s a slut and you’re a queer.” The helpless boy fell from his grip and landed in a heap on the floor.  
Compelled by something she did not quite understand, Chantelle reached her hand into the pocket of the black dress and found something which had been left there the last time she had worn it.  
“Brandon!” she called, and he stopped tormenting Simon and turned Brandon turned to face her. There was a red mark on his cheek where he had been hit but he looked intrigued and confused at her tone – not angry, but soft and gentle. She smiled sweetly.   
“You’re right,” she said, “I am a slut. And Jing’s a geek. And Remdog’s a cripple. We all have our challenges, or our quirks, or our labels with which you and your kind will bash us to kingdom come. If fucking every guy you know makes you a slut then guilty as charged, but who the hell you are to condemn me? And besides,” she said with a smile, “being a slut has its advantages.” She leaned forward and kissed him and felt his pulse racing. As he clasped her body to his, she removed the small packet of cocaine from her pocket and slipped it into his.  
Their lips parted and she pulled away. “Miss Pickwell!” she shouted suddenly. “Miss Pickwell! Brandon’s trying to sell me drugs!”  
Miss Pickwell was out of her office in seconds.  
“Is that true, Brandon?”  
“No, Miss.”  
“Check his pockets, Miss Pickwell, he says he has drugs on him. He said it now!”  
“Mr. Small, turn out your pockets at once.”  
Miss Pickwell had a hungry, predatorial look in her eyes. Whether it was the anticipation of an expulsion or gaining a few narcotics Chantelle did not know. Brandon grinned and confidently turned out his pockets. Then his smile slowly faded.


	7. Chapter 7

It was a day after Brandon’s expulsion and Chantelle hugged Jing goodbye and walked up to Simon. It had turned out he was a friend of Joe who was trying out the school for the week.   
“Thanks for yesterday,” said Chantelle. “I am aware that I’ve been a complete cunt to you.”  
“You can continue to do so,” said Simon. “That won’t stop me from looking out for you. I’ve always defended those that hurt me.”  
“Me too,” said Chantelle. She wasn't really sure what else to say. She knew she was a complete bitch sometimes, what was the point in trying to explain it? If he wanted her he would be kind to her, no matter what she said or did.  
“But trust me, love," she said, "you can do way better than me.”  
“Than you?”   
“Yeah. I mean, you are the guy from Remdog’s party that was hitting on me, right? Simon?”  
“Babe, I wasn’t hitting on you. And my name is Stephen.”  
“They called you Simon?”  
“Those bitches never got my name right. Everyone at that school treated me like shit so I eventually decided to try this place out.”  
“Me too,” said Chantelle. “Are you going to stay?”  
Stephen considered it. “I’m still not sure. I mean, Joe’s here but… are you any less lonely since you came here?”  
“I honestly can’t say I am,” said Chantelle. “I’ve tried to adapt my entire personality to fit in here and it’s gotten me nowhere. But I wouldn’t leave this place for the world. We’re all a little fucked up here, Pickwell, Mitchell, me… even Mr. Wickers. But we somehow pull together in our shared fucked-up-ness and make it work as best we can. It’s all we can do. Better than living a lie, right?”  
“Quite right,” said Stephen.   
Up close by the light of day he didn’t seem half as geeky. In fact he didn’t seem like a geek at all, apart from the way he was dressed. Today had been No-Uniforms Day, and Chantelle had worn a slutty cheerleader outfit while Stephen had put on a homemade Frank-N-Furter costume, complete with a wig and fishnet stockings.   
“What you doing after school?” she asked.   
“Nothing, you?”  
“Not much. Want to come back to my place and watch Rocky Horror?”   
“Is that even a question, babe?”


End file.
